His middle name was

perfection he drove a
cold chariot harnessed to
thirteen yogurt specters of

placid city moving city

oiled acres of cars and
invisible exhaust breath that
no, she said pictures

and the meaning I shore

myself this cold city whose
smell is agitated circumference
and soft but her eyes still

unwind the folded beds into
kitchens, pastels our hated
deftly lust

let's talk about it